Nobody

"I suppose you ain't going to set up to be wiser than Solomon, at thistime of day," said Charity severely. But that stirred Lois's merrimentagain.

"Explain, Miss Lois!" said Dillwyn.

"I am not Solomon, that I should preach," she said.

"You just said you knew better than he," said Charity. "How you shouldknow better than the Bible, I don't see. It's news."

"Why, Charity, Solomon was not a good man."

"How came he to write proverbs, then?"

"At least he was not always a good man."

"That don't hinder his knowing what was vanity, does it?"

"But, Lois!" said Mrs. Barclay. "Go back, and tell us your secret, ifyou have one. How was Solomon's view mistaken? or what is yours?"

"These things were all given for our pleasure, Mrs. Barclay."

"But they die – and they go – and they fade," said Mrs. Barclay.

"You will not understand me," said Lois; "and yet it is true. If youare Christ's – then, 'all things are yours;… the world, or life, ordeath, or things present, or things to come: all are yours.' There isno loss, but there comes more gain."

"I wish you'd let Mr. Dillwyn have some more oysters," said Charity;"and, Madge, do hand along Mrs. Barclay's cup. You mustn't talk, if youcan't eat at the same time. Lois ain't Solomon yet, if she does preach.You shut up, Lois, and mind your supper. My rule is, to enjoy things asI go along; and just now, it's oysters."

"I will say for Lois," here put in Mrs. Barclay, "that she doesexemplify her own principles. I never knew anybody with such a springof perpetual enjoyment."

"She ain't happier than the rest of us," said the elder sister.

"Not so happy as grandmother," added Madge. "At least, grandmotherwould say so. I don't know."

CHAPTER XXXVIII

BREAKING UP

Mr. Dillwyn went away. Things returned to their normal condition atShampuashuh, saving that for a while there was a great deal of talkabout the Santa Clans doings and the principal actor in them, and noend of speculations as to his inducements and purposes to be served intaking so much trouble. For Shampuashuh people were shrewd, and did notbelieve, any more than King Lear, that anything could come of nothing.That he was not moved by general benevolence, poured out upon theschool of the white church, was generally agreed. "What's we to him?"asked pertinently one of the old ladies; and vain efforts were made toascertain Mr. Dillwyn's denomination. "For all I kin make out, hehain't got none," was the declaration of another matron. "I don'tb'lieve he's no better than he should be." Which was ungrateful, andhardly justified Miss Charity's prognostications of enduring fame; bywhich, of course, she meant good fame. Few had seen Mr. Dillwynundisguised, so that they could give a report of him; but Mrs. Marxassured them he was "a real personable man; nice and plain, and takin'no airs. She liked him first-rate."

"Who's he after? Not one o' your gals?"

"Mercy, no! He, indeed! He's one of the high-flyers; he won't come toShampuashuh to look for a wife. 'Seems to me he's made o' money; andhe's been everywhere; he's fished for crocodiles in the Nile, and eatenhis luncheon at the top of the Pyramids of Egypt, and sailed to theNorth Pole to be sure of cool lemonade in summer. He won't marry inShampuashuh."

"What brings him here, then?"

"The spirit of restlessness, I should say. Those people that have beeneverywhere, you may notice, can't stay nowhere. I always knew there wasfools in the world, but I didn't know there was so many of 'em asthere be. He ain't no fool neither, some ways; and that makes him abigger fool in the end; only I don't know why the fools should have allthe money."

And so, after a little, the talk about this theme died out, and thingssettled down, not without some of the reaction Mr. Dillwyn hadpredicted; but they settled down, and all was as before in Shampuashuh.Mr. Dillwyn did not come again to make a visit, or Mrs. Marx's arousedvigilance would have found some ground for suspicion. There did comenumerous presents of game and fruit from him, but they were sent toMrs. Barclay, and could not be objected against, although they came insuch quantities that the whole household had to combine to dispose ofthem. What would Philip do next? – Mrs. Barclay queried. As he had said,he could not go on with repeated visits to the house. Madge and Loiswould not hear of being tempted to New York, paint the picture asbright as she would. Things were not ripe for any decided step on Mr.Dillwyn's part, and how should they become so? Mrs. Barclay could notsee the way. She did for Philip what she could by writing to him, whether for his good or his harm she could not decide. She feared thelatter. She told him, however, of the sweet, quiet life she wasleading; of the reading she was doing with the two girls, and the wholefamily; of the progress Lois and Madge were making in singing anddrawing and in various branches of study; of the walks in the freshsea-breezes, and the cosy evenings with wood fires and the lamp; andshe told him how they enjoyed his game, and what a comfort the orangeswere to Mrs. Armadale.

This lasted through January, and then there came a change. Mrs.Armadale was ill. There was no more question of visits, or of studies; and all sorts of enjoyments and occupations gave place to the oneabsorbing interest of watching and waiting upon the sick one. And then, that ceased too. Mrs. Armadale had caught cold, she had not strength tothrow off disease; it took violent form, and in a few days ran itscourse. Very suddenly the little family found itself without its head.

There was nothing to grieve for, but their own loss. The long, wearyearth-journey was done, and the traveller had taken up her abode wherethere is

"The rest begun,

That Christ hath for his people won."

She had gone triumphantly. "Through God we shall do valiantly" – beingher last – uttered words. Her children took them as a legacy, and feltrich. But they looked at her empty chair, and counted themselves poorerthan ever before. Mrs. Barclay saw that the mourning was deep. Yet, with the reserved strength of New England natures, it made no noise, and scarce any show.

Mrs. Barclay lived much alone those first days. She would gladly havetalked to somebody; she wanted to know about the affairs of the littlefamily, but saw no one to talk to. Until, two or three days after thefuneral, coming home one afternoon from a walk in the cold, she foundher fire had died out; and she went into the next room to warm herself.There she saw none of the usual inmates. Mrs. Armadale's chair stood onone side the fire, unoccupied, and on the other side stood uncle TimHotchkiss.

"How do you do, Mr. Hotchkiss? May I come and warm myself? I have beenout, and I am half-frozen."

"I guess you're welcome to most anything in this house, ma'am, – andfire we wouldn't grudge to anybody. Sit down, ma'am;" and he set achair for her. "It's pretty tight weather."

"We had nothing like this last winter," said Mrs. Barclay, shivering.

"We expect to hev one or two snaps in the course of the winter," saidMr. Hotchkiss. "Shampuashuh ain't what you call a cold place; but weexpect to see them two snaps. It comes seasonable this time. I'drayther hev it now than in March. My sister – that's gone, – she couldalways tell you how the weather was goin' to be. I've never seen no onelike her for that."

"Nor for some other things," said Mrs. Barclay. "It is a sad change tofeel her place empty."

"Ay," said uncle Tim, with a glance at the unused chair, – "it's thedifference between full and empty. 'I went out full, and the Lord hasbrought me back empty', Ruth's mother-in-law said."

"Who is Ruth?" Mrs. Barclay asked, a little bewildered, and willing tochange the subject; for she noticed a suppressed quiver in the hardfeatures. "Do I know her?"

"I mean Ruth the Moabitess. Of course you know her. She was a poorheathen thing, but she got all right at last. It was her mother-in-lawthat was bitter. Well – troubles hadn't ought to make us bitter. I guessthere's allays somethin' wrong when they do."

"Hard to help it, sometimes," said Mrs. Barclay.

"She wouldn't ha' let you say that," said the old man, indicatingsufficiently by his accent of whom he was speaking. "There warn't nobitterness in her; and she had seen trouble enough! She's out o' itnow."

"What will the girls do? Stay on and keep the house here just as theyhave done?"

"Well, I don' know," said Mr. Hotchkiss, evidently glad to welcome abusiness question, and now taking a chair himself. "Mrs. Marx and me,we've ben arguin' that question out, and it ain't decided. There's onebig house here, and there's another where Mrs. Marx lives; and there'sone little family, and here's another little family. It's expensive toscatter over so much ground. They had ought to come to Mrs. Marx, orshe had ought to move in here, and then the other house could berented. That's how the thing looks to me. It's expensive for fivepeople to take two big houses to live in. I know, the girls have gotyou now; but they might not keep you allays; and we must look at thingsas they be."

"I must leave them in the spring," said Mrs. Barclay hastily.

"In the spring, must ye!"

"Must," she repeated. "I would like to stay here the rest of my life; but circumstances are imperative. I must go in the spring."

"Then I think that settles it," said Mr. Hotchkiss. "I'm glad to knowit. That is! of course I'm sorry ye're goin'; the girls be very fond ofyou."

"And I of them," said Mrs. Barclay; "but I must go."

After that, she waited for the chance of a talk with Lois. She waitednot long. The household had hardly settled down into regular ways againafter the disturbance of sickness and death, when Lois came one eveningat twilight into Mrs. Barclay's room. She sat down, at first wassilent, and then burst into tears. Mrs. Barclay let her alone, knowingthat for her just now the tears were good. And the woman who had seenso much heavier life-storms, looked on almost with a feeling of envy atthe weeping which gave so simple and frank expression to grief. Untilthis feeling was overcome by another, and she begged Lois to weep nomore.

"I do not mean it – I did not mean it," said Lois, drying her eyes. "Itis ungrateful of me; for we have so much to be thankful for. I am soglad for grandmother!" – Yet somehow the tears went on falling.

"Glad?" – repeated Mrs. Barclay doubtfully. "You mean, because she isout of her suffering."